I Heart You
by FanofBellaandEdward
Summary: Aurors find bodies with their hearts ripped out and cut into pieces. After a while, the trail leads to Draco - until he seemingly ends up dead as well. Who is the killer and who is this mysterious suitor angling for Harry's heart? Drama; slash; gore; description of wounds; more warnings inside the story. Valentine's day fic


**Author's note: My friends know this particular fact and some of my regular readers may have spotted this trend already. The trend being that I'm incapable of writing a completely fluffy fic *sweatdrops***

**Believe it or not, guys, but this is a Valentine's Day oneshot. Yes, Valentine's Day. The day known for being romantic and I created a horror fic for it .-. My mind works in strange ways ... Inspired by the song Monster by Lady Gaga**

**Warnings are important, guys, so please pay attention to them.**

**Warnings: slash; compliant with the books but doesn't follow the epilogue; description of wounds and blood; slight gore; mystery; mindfuck; ridiculously long; foul language**

**Disclaimer: Safe to say I don't own Harry Potter - that honour belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

**Dedicated to: Belle A Lestrange, because she managed to make this look better and was willing to read through this too long thing XD Thank you, honey!**

**Happy Valentine's Day!**

* * *

**I heart you**

The low sound of a Floo call coming in pulled the dark haired wizard out of his pleasant dream. He sat up with an irritated groan, sluggishly rubbing the crusted sleep out of his eyes. Blinking his eyes, his hand roamed across his cluttered nightstand, trying to locate his glasses. His fingers skidded across a thin frame and he grabbed it, pushing it on his face.

His vision cleared and he could see the outlines of his bedroom furniture in the dark room. Some sunlight was trying to worm its way through the dark curtains, but had to settle for creating a weak glow instead; clear enough to make certain he wouldn't stumble against the furniture, but not yet clear enough to provide decent light.

He slipped his wand from underneath his flat pillow – he never went to sleep without it – and used the Tempus charm.

Six thirty in the morning. Bloody fantastic.

Grumbling about the early hour, he slipped out of bed, shivering when the cold January air hit his warm skin. Damn it, he would need to cast another Heat charm.

The hot water of the shower cleared up the fogginess lingering in his brain and when he stepped out of it, he was significantly more awake.

Remembering the warning sound of the Floo, he hastily grabbed one of his thicker robes and hurried out to greet the early visitor.

"Ron, is something the matter?" Harry Potter greeted his best friend as he knelt down on the soft rug.

Ron Weasley's head floated in the green flames. He himself looked tired as hell and it was clear that he'd rather be back in his bed – a sentiment Harry agreed with wholeheartedly.

"We've got another case," Ron informed him in a scratchy voice and yawned loudly.

"What kind of case?" Harry inquired and mentally sighed. They had just finished one of the toughest cases they had had so far. It had taken them nearly three months just to track down a couple of dragon egg contrabandists. When they had finally managed to pinpoint their location, they had been locked into a duel for nearly five hours, forced to use curses and spells which drained their magic a lot. By the time backup had arrived and they had managed to capture the smugglers, Harry and Ron had almost collapsed where they stood.

Only the thought that collapsing in the safety of their own house was a lot safer and more comfortable had been enough to keep them on their feet until they had delivered their report to Kingsley.

Now they already had another one? Kingsley usually at least gave them two days to rest before he threw them another high level case.

"Murder," Ron answered with a grimace. "They found the body in an alleyway in Fulham. They are waiting for us to arrive, because there is something off about the way the wizard was murdered apparently."

"Isn't that always?" Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Fine, I'll go change and grab some quick breakfast and then I'll be in the office."

Ron nodded and with another loud yawn – offering the view of his throat if Harry wanted to check – he disappeared from the Floo, leaving behind red golden flames merrily dancing around each other.

Harry rose up and rolled his shoulders, getting the kinks out of them. At least he got around seven hours sleep; it was something.

* * *

There had been a storm going on during the night, complete with thunder and lightning and that coupled with the freezing temperature made the streets a dangerous place.

Harry and Ron had Apparated straight from the Ministry to the coordination given to them by Kingsley.

The alleyway stunk of beer and garbage and both Aurors carefully made their way over the slippery ground to the crime scene.

A woman with very short, brown hair greeted them first. Her name tag read Amanda Beauregard. She had joined the Aurors two years ago and was a quiet, but efficient worker.

"Good morning, Amanda," Harry greeted with a wan smile. "What do you have for us?"

She gestured towards the ground. "Caucasian male around thirty years old. His wand was found broken near him. He suffered a head wound, a broken arm and had his chest ripped open. His heart was removed and placed next to him in pieces," she told them curtly; her usual rose cheeks looking pale in the early morning light.

"In pieces?" Ron asked lowly and Amanda stepped aside, revealing the victim.

Harry grimaced when the smell of blood hit him. The man's left arm lay at an awkward angle away from his body; his dark brown hair was matted to his head thanks to the blood slipping out from a large gash across the side of his face and forehead. His chest was indeed cut open and his ribs stuck up, the sharp, pointy ends reaching up towards the sky. All of his organs were still in place, except for his heart, which had been placed next to his right arm. It was chopped into several small pieces and formed a straight line.

He heard Ron gag next to him and he turned his head away, feeling nausea creeping up at the sight of the man's body. The rain last night had done nothing to alleviate the putrid smell of a decaying body in a pool of blood.

Doing this work for a couple of years already and having lived through a war didn't make it easier for him to deal with the smell or the gruesome sight.

"Who found him?" Harry asked once he was certain he wouldn't start throwing up at the crime scene. "Are there any witnesses?"

Another Auror joined them. He was a man in his forties, his light red hair already starting to become grey at the temples and his deep brown eyes had wrinkles around them.

"A witch who was walking her dog out discovered him half an hour ago. So far no other witnesses have turned up," Tyree Aldrich answered softly and jerked his head towards the entrance of the alleyway where another Auror was softly conversing with a thin, young woman, sporting short, purple hair. Her small dog was patiently waiting next to her feet, but his nose was clearly catching the smell of blood as he shivered in the cold, damp air.

"All right, please take enough photos of the scene and ask around in the neighbourhood. Maybe someone saw what happened last night," Ron instructed them and the two Aurors nodded.

Harry jerked his head towards their only witness – for now – and Ron nodded, following him swiftly.

"Good morning, miss," Harry greeted her as friendly as he could under the circumstances.

Light brown eyes shifted from the Auror in front of her to Harry and her eyes immediately widened when she recognized him.

"I'm Auror Potter and this is my partner, Auror Weasley. I'm sorry for keeping you here as I know this must be distressing for you, but could you possibly tell us what you saw?" Harry asked friendly.

The other Auror hurried back into the alleyway, most likely helping Amanda and Tyree with collecting the evidence and preparing the body to be transported to the morgue.

"Yes, I – I'm Ashley Tallbrook," she said after a minute of silence and she shook her head, as if to clear it. To her credit, she didn't start squealing or gaping the moment Harry had approached her. "I always go for a walk with my dog around this time, because I need to leave for work around eight. Anyway, our route always leads us past this alleyway and usually my dog doesn't even stop to sniff or so, but this time he was pulling me into the alleyway." She took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

"Take your time," Ron murmured soothingly.

If Aurors had trouble facing the gruesome murder, then civilians definitely had trouble with it, considering they weren't used to such sights at all.

"I tried to pull him back, because I thought he had simply picked up the smell of a cat or a rat or something, but he kept pulling and tugging, so I followed him and … and that's when I saw that man laying down there," she finished, looking very pale; her eyes flickering over to the body down the other end of the alley.

"Did you notice anything else in particular?" Harry inquired.

She shook her head. "Only his – his wounds and his broken wand. As soon as I saw his body, I left and warned you guys."

"All right, thank you, Miss Tallbrook. For now you can leave, but please keep yourself available in case we have other questions," Ron said and gave her a reassuring smile.

She nodded weakly and left, trembling slightly.

Ron turned to face him and sighed, grimacing. "What a nice way to start the morning, huh?" he muttered darkly.

"Let's go. Maybe we'll be able to find other witnesses or even something of the killer," Harry sighed.

* * *

It was going to be a very long day.

They didn't find many witnesses. The one witness they had found, could only tell them they had caught a glimpse of the victim following a blond person into the alleyway. The witness hadn't even been able to confirm whether this person had been male or female.

Harry and Ron had dealt with these sorts of cases before – where there were practically no witnesses and evidence was scarce. It took them a while longer, but so far they had always managed to solve a case on time – sometimes even before the killer could take another victim.

This time the case proved to be a lot more complicated than they had expected it to be, because three days later, they had to Apparate to Kensington where a wizard had found a body dumped in a park. Again this victim – a wizard who couldn't have been older than nineteen at most – had his wand broken, his chest cut open and his heart removed. The heart was cut up in pieces again and formed two lines next to the man's hip; one horizontal line and one vertical.

"I think it's safe to assume we're dealing with a serial killer here," Ron murmured darkly.

Harry pursed his lips. "We're not certain about that yet. So far the body count is two. To be classified as a serial killer, at least one other body has to show up," he pointed out and rose up from his squatted position. He grimaced. "Although I dearly hope there won't be a third body."

Ron shook his head and gestured towards the body while other Aurors were taking pictures and rooting through the grass, searching for evidence. "Come on, Harry, do you really think this person will stop at two?" he snorted. "I don't think it's coincidence that both bodies just happen to be mutilated in the same manner, so we can exclude the possibility of two killers."

"Who said it's only one person?" Harry countered. "It could be a group working together."

Ron made an impatient gesture. "In that case it's practically a given that there will be more victims."

"Maybe there is some kind of connection between the victims?" Harry murmured hesitatingly. Usually serial killers had a specific target in mind – what was the connection between these two victims? If they knew that, maybe they could prevent a third murder.

"So far the only connections they have are the facts that they are both male and wizard." Ron shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "No other connections have been found yet, but we just have discovered the second body, so maybe we'll find more."

"Let's go and interview the witness," Harry said grimly and after throwing one last look at the unfortunate man, he made his way to the shaking witness, who looked on the verge of passing out.

* * *

"I'm putting Alexavier Draydon on your team as well," Kingsley stated tiredly later on that week. Dark circles underneath his eyes made him look older that what he was. "He is an expert in finding evidence, so hopefully he'll speed up your search."

Harry winced and dragged a hand over his face. Yesterday, four days after they had found the nineteen year old wizard, they had found a third victim behind a flower shop in Brixton. This time the victim had been a dark haired woman, around mid-thirties. Again her wand had been snapped and her chest had been cut open with her heart removed. The pieces of the heart had been placed right above her head and had formed some kind of circle.

This time she had been found by a couple of Aurors, who had been called up to deal with complaints of neighbours, complaining about some kind of foul smell.

It had been confirmed now that they were seeking a serial killer.

"Thanks, Kingsley," he sighed and winced when his neck cracked loudly.

His superior leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. "How much evidence do you have so far?"

"Not much," Harry grunted and leaned forwards, staring at the floor. "There seems to be no connection at all between the three victims, except for the fact that they all belonged to the Wizarding World, had their wands broken and their hearts removed and cut into pieces. The pathologist said that while the victims had been subjected to curses, it was ultimately their chest being cut open that killed them. Two of them were also moved from the place where the crime actually occured, because there was too little blood present in the places where they were found."

"Anything else?"

"No, we haven't managed to discover anything else. Only, witnesses managed to state that they have seen a blond person passing by the night before the bodies were found closely followed by the victims," Harry replied after some contemplation. The few witnesses they had found all stated they had seen a blond person, yet none of them could confirm the gender. Either the killer wore clothes which hid his or her real gender or the killer used spells to blur the outlines of their body.

"Hm, could be coincidence. Plus there were probably more people on the street than that blond person alone."

"No, in this case, our best bet is the blond person, because it seems too much coincidence for every witness to see a blond person the night before they're killed. It's not like the bodies were all found in the same place," Harry argued.

Kingsley frowned. "You're most likely correct," he murmured. "Well, anyway, I'll …"

A knock on the door silenced him.

"Yes?"

Ron opened the door, a grim look on his face. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, Kingsley, but Harry and I are getting called out."

"Why and where?" Harry asked, already standing up and pulling on his outer robes.

"Another body found. Same modus operandi as the first three victims," Ron murmured.

Kingsley cursed loudly before sighing, "Go on, Harry."

Nodding at his superior, Harry followed his partner hastily out of the office. "This quick already?" he muttered aghast as he hurried along, trying to keep up with Ron's long strides. So far there had always been a couple of days between each victim.

They passed several other Aurors and Ministry workers and marched outside, the cool drizzle hitting their faces.

"Where did they find the body?"

Ron kept silent, his face suspiciously turned away from him.

"Ron? Where did they find the body?" Harry repeated impatiently and narrowed his eyes.

Ron sighed and turned to face him when they slipped into the alleyway, which was the designed Apparition spot for Aurors. "Near the railroad tracks in Little Whinging."

The place where Harry had lived for years and where he had been tormented by his Muggle family.

His throat suddenly grew dry as he heard himself asking, "Do you know …"

Ron seemed to understand what he wanted to asked, because he gave him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders. "It's not your cousin," he said quietly. "It's another woman."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate so that he wouldn't end up Splinching himself. He may not be fond of his family, but he didn't wish them to die either, especially not in the morbid way that his killer was mutilating his victims.

He had to wonder, though, whether there was a specific reason why the killer had chosen Little Whinging; it wasn't as if it was that well known a place among the Wizarding community. With dark shadows passing over his face and a reassuring nod from Ron, they both focused on their coordinates and with two soft 'pops' they were gone.

* * *

Amanda greeted them again when they arrived at the abandoned railroad tracks.

"Who found her?" Harry asked tightly after casting a glance at the woman lying between two pairs of railroad tracks.

She had long, curly, bright red hair and her dark blue eyes were staring blankly up at the dark sky. The weak sunlight fighting its way through the heavy clouds illuminated her greying skin. Her wand, broken in three pieces, was placed right next to her left hand. Her chest was ripped open and her heart was placed in some kind of V shape next to her right arm.

Amanda gestured towards someone over her shoulder. "A Muggle man named Dudley Dursley."

Harry couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath that followed her reply. Out of all the people who could have found the poor woman – why did it have to be his cousin? He felt cold dread drop like an iron weight into his stomach at the prospect of seeing his cousin again, let alone under such traumatizing circumstances. His hands grew clammy as he flexed his fingers in and out of a fist at his side.

"Harry, mate, do you want me to talk to him?" Ron suggested in a low voice; his hand gripping his shoulder a little tighter than he normally would have done. Harry knew that he was only trying to be supportive, but it didn't do anything to help the anxiety bubbling at the base of his skull.

"Harry, is that you?" Dudley's voice – lower than when they last spoke to each other – called out to him and he heard footsteps approaching him.

Harry shook his head and gave Ron a small, tight smile. "No, don't worry. I'm going to talk to him. See if you can discover some evidence," he murmured.

Ron glanced at him concerned, but nodded and started addressing Amanda again.

"Harry, it's been a long time," Dudley spoke and he sounded hesitant.

Harry took a deep breath and turned around. Dudley had retained his broad, muscular form, but his hair had been cut and was formed into small spikes with the help of some hair gel. He must have been working out, because he was dressed in an old T-shirt and some track pants. His white sneakers were dirty with mud – courtesy of the heavy thunder storm that had passed over the country last night and he had a rucksack nestled at his feet.

"Yes, it has been," Harry agreed. "Did you call the police?"

Dudley seemed confused at first, until he seemed to realise that Harry meant the Muggle police. He quickly shook his head, shifting his feet a bit. He was trying his best to avoid looking at the body. "No, I – I saw the pieces of a wand near her and figured she had to be one of your people."

Harry beckoned his cousin to follow him. Dudley was looking rather pale and Harry feared that if they remained longer near the body, his cousin would actually pass out. Not that he could blame him. Despite it being the fourth time, he still had to push back the bile that threatened to come out when he was hit by the smell of blood and Dark magic.

Once they were a comfortable distance away from the body – but still near enough so that Ron could keep an eye on him – Harry turned and addressed his cousin again.

"How did you get into contact with the Aurors?" he asked curiously.

"The Au-Aurors?" Dudley repeated confused.

"The people in the red robes, like I am. The wizard equivalent of the police," Harry clarified.

"Oh, well, when you had to leave years ago, one of your people gave ma, pa and me a button and said that if we ever got in trouble with some of your people, all we had to do was push on that button and help would be send," Dudley explained and fidgeted with his shirt. "I've been keeping that button in my wallet all this time. Once I found that woman, I figured that the button would send some help, so I used it. I didn't know who would show up, but well …" he trailed off and rubbed awkwardly over the back of his neck. He didn't look Harry in the eye, but that was understandable given the circumstances and the fact that they hadn't necessarily left in on another's good books.

"I see, that explains a lot," Harry murmured absentmindedly. He didn't know who had given his uncle, aunt and cousin those buttons, but that was not one of his concerns now. "Did you see anything weird when you found her?"

Dudley shook his head, biting his lip. "No, I was jogging past these tracks when I suddenly saw someone laying there. I thought she was hurt or even drunk or so, so I came closer to see if she needed any help. That's when I saw all that blood." He shivered and a look of disgust crossed his face. "But aside from that … I didn't see anything weird."

"Hm, okay, thanks, Dudley," Harry smiled tightly. He then furrowed his eyebrows. "So you didn't see a blond person or anything like that?"

"Blond?" Dudley asked surprised before his eyebrows knitted together. "No … Not that I can think of immediately. I mean, sure, there are quite a few blonde people living around here, but I haven't seen any of them near here."

But just because the person wasn't there when Dudley arrived, didn't mean this person had never been there.

He was brought out of his musings by Dudley.

"Say, Harry?"

"Hm? Yes?"

"Are they going to remove my memories of this?" Dudley asked frankly; a slight tremor in his voice at thought of having magic being used on him.

Harry gaped in shock before he realised what a stupid sight that must be and he hastily closed his mouth again. "What? Why would you …"

"I heard someone whispering about it. Saying that they had to Ob-_Obivate_ me?" Dudley asked uncertainly.

He would need to have a conversation with his group about being bloody discreet. He grinded his teeth, but shook his head. "No, normally we do Obliviate Muggles – people like you – but that's to prevent them from exposing our world to yours. You already know about it, so … Can I trust you to keep quiet about this?"

Dudley nodded hastily. "Yeah, of course! I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Not even Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, Dudley," Harry said seriously as he narrowed his eyes at his cousin. "They can't know about this either."

"I – I promise, Harry. I won't say a word."

Dudley sounded earnest enough and Harry was inclined to believe him. He had shared a house with his cousin for years and knew how he looked like when he was lying and this time he was completely sincere.

"All right, Dudley." Harry clapped his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "You can go home now."

Dudley inclined his head stiffly before murmuring, "All right."

Harry was almost near his team again when Dudley's voice rung out across the damp track, "Be careful, Harry!"

Harry offered him a small smile and a wave that felt easier than it should have done. "Of course!"

He and Dudley may never become close; too much had happened in the past between them for them to simply start over again. But he thought he and Dudley could remain on civil terms and occasionally meet up somewhere, preferable without mutilated women in tow.

Ron sneaked a peek at him when he joined him again. "You okay, mate?" he asked in a low tone.

"Of course," Harry muttered and then nodded to the dead woman. "Did you find any new evidence?"

* * *

The fifth victim – a brown haired, young wizard, who was found near a dumpster in East Dulwich and had his heart placed on his face in the shape of an E – finally gave them a suspect.

On the twenty-fifth of January, a group of five Aurors forced their way into Malfoy Manor and brought Draco Malfoy to Interrogation Room Five in the Ministry after a DNA test on a thin strand of blond hair had revealed him to have accompanied the victim the night before he had been murdered.

Harry and Ron had decided that Harry would enter the interrogation room on his own. Ron feared that he wouldn't be able to set his prejudices against Malfoy aside long enough to conduct a proper interrogation and after discussing it with Kingsley, it was decided that Harry would act as interrogator.

Normally he wouldn't be allowed to act as interrogator given their past, but Kingsley said that out of all the available Aurors, he only trusted Harry to be unprejudiced enough to conduct the interrogation.

It was a sad day in Auror history when a school enemy was more unprejudiced than people who had never met the suspect in person.

This thought flitted through Harry's head when he opened the door of Interrogation Room Five and stepped inside. There were Monitor charms in every corner of the room, so the people outside the room could listen as well.

He hadn't seen Malfoy since he had acted as a witness for his defence when they were eighteen – which made it eight years ago now. _The years hadn't been bad for Malfoy_, Harry thought grudgingly when he assessed the man sitting leisurely at the table.

The pointy look he had had during their school years had been exchanged for sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. His blond hair was no longer gelled back, but instead hung loosely around his face, which gave him a carefree look. His physique had remained lean and even through the grey sweater, Harry noticed his arms were still fairly muscled.

Malfoy looked up from his contemplation of the scratched table when Harry stopped in front of him.

"Hello, Potter," he smiled thinly and leaned back in his chair.

Harry sat down on his own chair and placed the file – which contained the pictures of the victims amongst other things – on the table, one of his hands on top of it.

"Good afternoon, Malfoy," he replied in a neutral voice. "Do you know why you are here?"

Malfoy rolled his head around until his neck cracked a few times and then shrugged. "I seem to be suspected of murdering five people," he murmured; his grey eyes as hard as stone. "I know I wasn't an angel in Hogwarts, but I thought it was established long ago that I don't have it in me to kill someone." His lip curled up and his gaze hardened.

Harry didn't need to use Legilimency to know that Malfoy was remembering the night of Dumbledore's death.

"Be that as it may, your hair was found in the hands of one of the victims," Harry retorted calmly, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Malfoy's.

Malfoy raised a blond eyebrow. "And that means I must have killed the other four people as well?" he said derisively.

"You're not denying that you were with the victim last night?" Harry asked coolly.

"You're talking about Ian Lansley, right?"

Harry nodded silently.

Malfoy groaned in irritation and threw his eyes up to the ceiling. "Yes, I was with him."

"Why?"

"We were on a date," Malfoy answered flatly, his expression showing that he'd very much like to forget that event.

"What happened when the date was over?"

Malfoy's lip curled up again. "He was boring as hell, so I left him at the restaurant and Apparated home. He was still alive when I last saw him."

Harry cocked his head. "How do you explain your hair in his hand then?"

"Tch, the bastard seemed to think that just because he paid for dinner, he was entitled to get more." Malfoy rolled his eyes before he picked some imaginary lint of his sleeve in a bored manner. "When I told him I was not interested in him, he tried to kiss me in a futile attempt to convince me – at least that's what I think he was trying to do. I pushed him off as soon as his grubby hands started prying at my face and left. He must have gotten my hair that way."

Malfoy leant forwards and smiled mockingly. "So sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but I'm not the one you're looking for."

"We have witnesses stating they saw a blond man accompanying the victims right before they died," Harry murmured and leant back in his chair, keeping the distance between him and the Malfoy heir.

Malfoy snorted harshly and then laughed out loud. "Is that all you have, Potter? There are a lot of blond men in Great Britain _alone_. Come on, even _you_ can do better than that!"

"What have you been doing lately, Malfoy?" Harry ignored the taunt and decided to switch tactics. Unfortunately they didn't have more, so he couldn't use any specific evidence to proof that Malfoy was behind the murders.

"Trying to get my potions business promoted," Malfoy sighed and shrugged as if it was no big deal. "And going on dates. They usually are quite disastrous, though. Some people seem to think that they can act all high and uppity, just because my father was on the losing side of the war." His eyes darkened again and he pursed his lips before he dropped his gaze to the table between them.

"Where were you during the early morning hours on the thirteenth of January?" Harry went on.

"In my bed," he answered flatly.

"Can someone confirm that?"

"The house elves could, I suppose."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know as well as I do, Malfoy, that house elves don't count as alibi," he pointed out mildly.

Despite Hermione's ongoing fight for more rights for the house elves, the Ministry couldn't and wouldn't consider them as valuable witnesses, because they were loyal to their masters and would lie for them for fear of beatings.

"Sorry, Potter, but I don't have anyone else." Malfoy shrugged.

"I suppose that your answer is the same for the sixteenth, the twentieth and the twenty-first of January?" Harry asked and couldn't suppress his scowl.

"Not a good alibi, I know, but it's the truth." Malfoy smiled coldly. "Can't help it if I find nobody interesting enough to warm my bed."

"You seem awfully relaxed for someone who is suspected of murder, Malfoy," Harry noted flatly.

Malfoy grinned and spread his arms as if he wanted to hug Harry from across the table. "That's because I know I'm innocent. We also both know that unless you can come up with some damning evidence – more than just my hair on _one_ of your victims, a man I've admitted to having a date with – you can't hold me."

Harry gritted his teeth and his hand tensed around his wand underneath the table.

Malfoy leaned closer again, his steel grey eyes completely focused on Harry. His breath caressed Harry's cheeks when he murmured, "So, Auror Potter, do you have any other evidence? Or can I return back to the manor?"

The chair screeched loudly when Harry shoved it backwards. Without favouring the blond wizard another glance, he snapped, "You can leave, Malfoy. Don't leave the country and keep yourself available in case we need to question you again."

Before Malfoy could offer any retort, the door slammed close behind Harry.

Harry leaned with his back against the door, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He had interrogated Death Eaters like the Lestrange brothers without even becoming the slightest bit agitated, yet Malfoy continued to get underneath his skin every bloody time they met. He needed to pull himself together.

Eight years later and the man still had the ability to fluster and annoy him. He had thought he had become more mature over the years.

When he felt composed enough, he disappeared into the next room where Kingsley, Ron and a couple of other Aurors were gathered.

"What do you think, Harry?" Kingsley said neutrally as he nodded towards the screen where the inside of Interrogation Room Five was shown. "Do you think he speaks the truth? You probably know him the best."

Harry grimaced and raked a hand harshly through his hair. "I think he does," he replied reluctantly. "His alibi is shitty at best, but he doesn't strike me as a person who is capable of murdering so many people. He couldn't do it all those years ago and I don't think he can do it now for little to no motivation."

"People can change throughout the years, mate," Ron spoke up in a neutral voice. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and he was leaning against the wall. "He wasn't capable of killing Dumbledore, but that doesn't mean he can't kill someone now if they personally offended him."

"Fair point, but even if he has it in him to kill someone now, don't you think the modus operandi is a bit too over the top for Malfoy to use it?" Harry proposed contemplatively. "I mean, he strikes me more as someone who would use potions to kill someone or a Dark Curse. Not rip someone's chest open and remove their hearts. Malfoy can be a drama queen, but even that's too dramatic for him. Plus, I can't imagine him getting his hands dirty for the sake of _this_."

"Maybe we should use Veritaserum on him?" Lisa Belckins offered hesitatingly. She had started as an Auror two years after Harry did and was often called upon to assist during interrogations, although she seemed to favor using that particular method of getting an alibi out of someone. She relied far too heavily on magic to provide the right answers.

Kingsley shook his head. "Can't do that unless we have sufficient evidence that he's our killer," he murmured. "His hair found on one of the victims isn't enough evidence. And considering he's admitted to being with that victim anyway, no doubt numerous people will confirm they were on a date with one another."

"So we're back to square one, basically," Ron concluded sourly.

"Unfortunately," Kingsley sighed. He glanced at Ron and Harry. "Take the rest of the day off. You two look ready to collapse."

Harry wanted to protest – how could he rest easily when there was a serial killer out there? Who knew when that person would strike next? They needed to keep going; the quicker they found that son of a bitch, the better.

Kingsley threw him a warning look. "Go home, Auror Potter. That's an order."

Harry clenched his teeth together, but nodded. He and Kingsley had a closer relationship than the other Aurors, but even he couldn't ignore a direct order from the man. He was capable of pulling him off of the case entirely if he thought Harry was pushing himself too far.

"Why don't you go with me, Harry?" Ron suggested in an obvious attempt to placate and distract his best friend. "Hermione has been nagging me for ages to invite you over again. And you know how bad she can get, mate."

Harry let out a short chuckle. "All right, I'll come with you."

Maybe an evening spent with his best friends was indeed what he needed now.

If only to help him forget the intense look in Malfoy's eyes.

* * *

"Again?" Harry groaned when he saw the pile of early Valentine's day gifts and cards waiting for him at his desk.

It wasn't even February yet, but people had started sending gifts already and it was seriously cluttering up his desk space.

Ron grinned. "They must think the early bird gets the worm," he said jokingly and took a sip of his coffee as he leaned back in his chair, glancing briefly at a memo that had followed them in the lift this morning. It was nonsense, but he had nothing else to do at that moment except watch his friend squirm at the confetti spewing cards some thirty year old witch had sent in.

"You would think after so many years of trying, they would get the bloody hint," Harry growled and immediately banished the pile of gifts.

"As long as you're alive, they won't give up," Ron said solemnly. He perked up. "Maybe they'll stop if you have a partner?"

Harry threw him a sour look. "And where do you suggest I find one? The last few dates I had all turned out to be more interested in my fame and money or asking if I could banish their speeding tickets for flying without a license," he said bitterly.

Ron patted his back sympathetically. "Sorry, mate. I'm sure you'll find someone soon," he said in an awkward attempt to console him.

Harry snorted, but smiled. He sat down at his desk and pulled the file of the serial killer – dubbed the 'Heartbreaker' now – towards him. A small, silver envelope peeking out from underneath the file, making him pause in his movements. All the Ministry notes and letters either arrived on official parchment or as little flying paper planes. This envelope could only be part of the pile his 'admirers' had sent him. Why hadn't it disappeared together with the rest?

A bit wary, he casted several spells on it to test for Dark curses and when nothing came up, he opened the envelope after a short moment of contemplation.

Ron was engrossed in his own paperwork, so he took no notice of Harry slipping the paper out of the envelope.

_Fifteen years ago, it all started for me when I drowned in emerald green._

_Fifteen years it took for me to finally see._

_Fifteen years wait, I hope, will soon end for me._

_Fifteen years you have been on my mind._

_Now I want to be by your side._

_One chance is all I ask._

_If you say yes, I will cast off my mask._

_I want to start over again and I hope you will grant me this chance. I am not an admirer nor a fan; I'm merely a man who wants to make you happy again._

_I am looking forward to meeting you soon._

There was no signature present at the end of the note and there was no trace of a magical signature left on the paper.

In spite of knowing better, he became intrigued. Who was this person? Someone who had met him fifteen years ago – that was when he was eleven. Was it another student? Who had kept quiet for fifteen years?

It had to be someone with quite some magical skills – there was a charm present on the envelope that made certain it wouldn't vanish before it was read. It had to be someone who knew him fairly well – he doubted many people used that particular charm on their letters. Most people believed that he read every letter and opened every package he received – so it had to be someone who knew him very well or was close to him to know he would instantly banish the letters and gifts.

Who could it be?

"Harry?" Ron's voice brought him out of his musing.

"What?" Harry blinked and put the letter in his drawer. He would try to figure out later who this writer was.

Ron's grim face made him instantly alert.

"They have found two bodies now. One in Camberwell and the other in West Norwood."

Harry clenched his jaw, but stood up to retrieve his outdoor robes. The serial killer was slightly changing his pattern and Harry wasn't certain what that exactly meant for them.

* * *

The sixth victim was found in the front yard of an abandoned house in Camberwell. The rain from the night before had cleared the woman's face from her blood and unfortunately – like with every other victim – it had wiped out any traces of fingerprints. The woman's heart had formed an awkward 'Y' right next to her head. Her broken wand had been neatly arranged in her right hand. She couldn't have been older than twenty.

The seventh victim – a male with partly blond and partly black hair – was found in an alleyway in West Norwood. His hands had been rearranged in a position as if he was holding a cup or something and his heart had been placed in it, in what appeared to be a circle.

Again there were only a few witnesses and thanks to the heavy downpour the night before, they had only caught the glimpse of blond hair. The only thing that was similar between any of the cases was that it always seemed to happen on a stormy night.

In just one month, the Heartbreaker had made seven victims. The public had gotten a whiff of the case and they were demanding answers. After a lot of Howlers and hysterical letters, Kingsley had held a press conference in which he warned the public to be careful and not go with someone they didn't know, whether they were blond or not. They were advised to stay inside during the evening and to report anything suspicious in their streets.

The pressure on the Aurors dealing with the case was heightened now that the public was aware of the murders. If they wanted to avoid a mass hysteria, they would need to find the killer and soon.

More Aurors were added to the team as extra help, but none of them could uncover any more evidence than what they already had. The suggestion that the murders were part of some ritual was wiped off of the table when none of the existing rituals corresponded with the way the victims were murdered or even the dates on which the murders had happened.

Two Aurors had tried to uncover a connection between the victims, but aside from the fact that they all belonged to the Wizarding World and were seen with a blond person, nothing else came up. Not even their blood status was the same – two of them had been Pureblood; three of them Halfblood and two of them Muggleborn.

When their families were interrogated, they couldn't come up with any detail that stood out on the night their loved ones were killed. Only one family – the one of the fifth victim – had known that the victim Ian Lansley had met up with Malfoy, but the rest of the families had had no clue as to who could have accompanied their family member that fateful night.

Harry was starting to wonder whether this would become a case that they couldn't solve. Usually by now the killer would have made a mistake or they at least managed to gain more valuable information from witnesses.

The closest piece of evidence they had so far was Malfoy's hair and that wasn't enough to charge him with every one of the murders.

* * *

With a loud sigh, Harry entered his kitchen and yawned. It was now the fifth of February and Kingsley had called a meeting at nine o'clock to discuss the case. He had half an hour for breakfast which should be enough.

While he was making scrambled eggs, the smell of brewing coffee filled the air and woke up his brain a little more. He needed to be prepared for the briefing later that morning. He needed to make sure that he didn't miss anything and contribute to any debates that would be sparked up afterwards. He had just turned off the fire under the pan when a loud, sharp 'thunk' against the window started him.

He whipped his head around and stared at the eagle staring back at him. A medium sized package was tied to its leg.

Harry grabbed his wand and slowly approached the window. The eagle folded its wings and hopped inside, offering its leg so that Harry could relieve it from its burden. Who on earth would use an eagle to send him something? He hadn't even known birds other than owls could be trained to transport mail.

The eagle seemed to judge him when he used various charms on the package, as if it felt personally insulted that Harry didn't trust him enough to accept the package immediately.

As soon as Harry was certain there was no Dark magic lingering on the package, he took it off of the eagle's leg. Before Harry could even offer a scrap of his bacon, the eagle hopped back outside, spread its wings and flew away; evidently having been told not to wait for a reply.

The package felt rather light as he carefully placed it down on the table, pondering whether he should open it or throw it in the fire.

A familiar envelope tied to the package caught his attention and unwillingly his heart accelerated a bit.

After the first note, he had received three more cards and two gifts – a bracelet with a single emerald stone embedded in the silver plate and a cloak with several high level protection charms on it – and he still didn't have a clue as to who this mysterious person could be. He thought it had to be a man – the handwriting wasn't at all feminine and somehow he couldn't imagine a female suitor sending him a cloak with those specific charms. The gifts had a more masculine air about them; women had a tendency to send him gooey, sentimental nonsense, normally with a lock of their hair.

Curiosity rose up again and he felt slightly giddy. The novelty of receiving presents should have worn off by now, considering he had been getting presents from both his fans and friends for years now, but for some reason the presents of this person were different.

They made him feel like his eleven year old self again, who had received a Christmas present for the first time.

The note contained a simple _I hope you will enjoy this treat. I cannot wait to meet you soon._

More curious than ever now, Harry carefully removed the paper, revealing a small, beige coloured box. After a few seconds of hesitation, he grabbed the lid and removed it.

His mouth started watering as soon as the smell curled up in his nose. It was a treacle tart put under preservation spells. Not a single piece, but an entire tart!

This mysterious suitor had to be someone close to him – only his friends knew what his favourite dessert was.

When would he finally meet this mysterious person? He didn't even care that it was a man – he had attempted to both date men and women, but all his dates so far had ended quite disastrous. The only rather successful relationship he had had so far was with Ginny and they both had decided after the war had ended that they were better off as friends.

So how and when would he meet this person?

The clock's chime warned him that he had only enough time to eat his breakfast before he had to leave.

With a curse filled with disappointment he placed the treacle tart in his cabinet and promised himself he would eat it when he returned home.

* * *

Ten minutes later Harry left Grimmauld Place Twelve and set out to the end of the street where he would go into the small alleyway to Apparate. The air was filled with the scent of rain on asphalt thanks to the storm they had had last night.

If Harry hadn't been used to the fickle weather in Great Britain, he would have thought that someone was using weather magic to call up storms. His breath came out in small, white puffs and he burrowed deeper into his scarf until his mouth was covered by it.

Nearing the alleyway, he gripped his wand in his pocket and after casting a furtive glance around him, he quickly slipped into the alleyway.

Only to start gagging immediately when the putrid smell of a decaying body mixed with the rusty scent of blood assaulted his nose.

Clapping a hand in front of his mouth, he stared wide eyed at the source of the nauseating smell.

Just three feet further laid the body of a black haired, young man, whose green-golden coloured eyes stared lifelessly at the old, brick wall in front of him. All his limbs laid askew and his chest was cut open again – some rats that had been eating parts of his organs scurried off with a menacing hiss when they spotted Harry's presence. His heart was arranged around his throat – a macabre form of a necklace.

What made Harry freeze up, was the scar burned and carved into the man's face: a lightning bolt.

* * *

"Maybe the Heartbreaker is targeting Auror Potter after all?" Amanda suggested bewildered.

"The latest victim and the place he was found, does suggest that, but Auror Potter has no ties to the other places, right?" a young Auror, William, retorted and threw a quick glance at Harry.

Harry swallowed and raised his head. "No, I didn't even visit those places before the murders occurred."

"Maybe it's coincidence?" Ron offered, but he didn't sound certain of himself.

"This is the eight victim already. He's practically toying with us now," Kingsley said and while he sounded calm, his eyes shone with fury. He addressed Harry, "I suppose you didn't see a blond person in your street?"

Harry smiled grimly. "No, sir, I didn't. My wards didn't pick up anything either."

Dark eyes studied him. "Do you think you need extra protection, Potter?"

Harry hesitated, but after a moment of thinking about it, shook his head. "No sir, I don't think the killer is targeting me. At least not in the sense that he wants to kill me," he added absentmindedly.

Of course he had no real proof that the Heartbreaker wasn't targeting him – but if he could drop off a body riddled with Dark magic in an alley near Harry's place without triggering his sensitive wards, that meant he had some more than just basic knowledge about wards. If he had wanted to kill Harry, he could have tried to bypass his wards and enter his home.

Thus the question remained: if the Heartbreaker was indeed targeting him, for which purpose then if it wasn't to kill him? Why murder all those people who had no ties at all to him? To attract his attention?

Harry had no answers to any of those questions, but he was starting to take this case very personally. Two places familiar to him and a body with a scar in the same shape as his couldn't be coincidence anymore.

This killer had some pretty good knowledge about him and it was high time they captured him.

* * *

Two days later, on the seventh of February, Harry received the last note of his mysterious suitor. The same eagle which had delivered the treacle tart had dropped off a deep red rose with the note attached to its stem.

_Like promised, my mask will be gone when we meet each other. If you are willing to give me a chance after all this time, please meet me at the entrance of Southwick Country Park on the twelfth of February at six p.m._

_I'll be waiting for you with a white rose in my hand._

Despite his worries about the Heartbreaker case and the sleep deprivation slowly taking over his life, Harry couldn't help but smile softly.

All right, maybe meeting someone he had never seen before was pretty stupid, considering the string of murders recently, but somehow he had a good feeling about this. Someone was taking the time to reach out to him and make themselves known to him. Most of his admirers gave up after the first two attempts. It made him feel ... special to get such consistent, benevolent attention. He didn't get any weird or bad vibes from the notes and by now he had learnt to trust his instincts.

Those instincts were telling him now that this person – whoever it was – could be trusted.

Besides, even if his instincts turned out to be fooled, he would take his wand with him and he was pretty certain he would win if it came to a duel.

The Floo chime pulled him back from his contemplation of the note. Ron's face was floating in the flames when Harry entered the room.

"Ron, something wrong?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he knelt down in front of the fireplace. Even with the flames distorting his face, he seemed awfully pale.

A sudden dreadful feeling came over Harry. "Don't tell me: a new victim?" he asked resignedly. He sighed and turned around. "Let me grab my coat and I'll …"

"Harry, it's Malfoy." Ron's voice had never sounded that soft or strange before. "They found Malfoy's body near his manor this morning."

Harry froze and barely dared to breathe.

Out of all the possible answers Ron could have given him, this was the one he had never expected to hear.

* * *

One look at Malfoy's ripped open chest confirmed the fact that he was, indeed, a victim of the Heartbreaker – which completely erased him from the suspect's list. This time Malfoy's heart had been left in one piece; it had still been cut out from his chest, but it laid whole in his right hand and the hysterical thought had run through Harry's head that Malfoy looked like he was offering his heart to someone.

He had barely been able to look at Malfoy's body properly. Yes, Malfoy had been an annoying pest and a gigantic pain in the arse during Hogwarts, but even he didn't deserve such a violent and painful death.

Their only suspect had been Malfoy and with him dead now, they were completely back to square one.

What kind of despicable being was going around, murdering all these people? What kind of sick, twisted mind was behind this?

Kingsley had forced the entire team to go home and rest up once Malfoy's body was brought to the morgue with the order that he wanted them with a fresh mind back the following morning. Even he had looked stricken when they brought Malfoy's body with them.

Malfoy's parents had been informed through Owl, as no one knew where they were living, so it would probably be a little while before they showed up.

Any other time and Harry would have refused to go home, but this time he felt so numb and completely unbalanced that he just accepted Kingsley's advice and returned home where he opened a bottle of Firewhiskey.

While the hot liquid set his throat on fire, he stared with blank eyes into the grate across from him; the flames danced merrily around each other, the crackling sound filling the living room.

How could Malfoy just be dead? Just like that? His brain didn't seem capable of comprehending the fact that his school enemy was no longer alive.

Malfoy wasn't meant to die like that. Not that young. Even if he and Harry would never have met up again after this whole case was solved, that didn't mean that Malfoy could die that soon.

Yes, those other people had been too young to die as well – yet, it was Malfoy's death that struck him the most.

Why?

Because they had known each other since they were eleven? Because Malfoy had been such a vital part of his life for at least seven years? Because he had defended him on his trial? Because he had used Malfoy's wand? Because despite their past, Malfoy hadn't betrayed them when he, Ron and Hermione had been captured during the war?

Those were all viable reasons, but none of them felt like the true reason why Malfoy's death hit him so hard.

Stumbling upstairs, he fell into his bed; nausea lingering in his body. The last thought that flitted through his mind before he was taken away to the dream world was that no matter what, he would capture that son of a bitch and make certain he would regret the day he decided to start his sick murderous spree.

* * *

The following day Harry was alone in the office he shared with Ron. Hermione had caught the flu and Ron wanted to make certain his wife actually stayed in bed instead of looking through yet another law book for her next presentation. It was endearing the way he took care of her and how she begrudgingly accepted his help. He could see just how relieved Ron looked when they could both close up for the night and return to his wife, along with Harry's well wishes.

It was evening now and Harry was studying the pictures of the crime scenes again. Something had been bothering since he woke up that morning and he was hoping that looking at the pictures – no matter how nauseating they were – would help him discover what exactly it was that he was searching.

His hand hovered over the picture with Malfoy's body displayed in the centre and he frowned; the nagging voice in the back of his mind growing louder.

He snatched the picture off of the desk and held it up, studying it intensely; Malfoy's usually pale features were now bleached of life and grey, his lips and nails hued blue and his hair and eyebrows looking almost fake against his sickly skin. It made his stomach churn, but he couldn't take his eyes away. And then it hit him.

It was the heart. The whole heart not being in pieces was bothering him, Harry suddenly realised. The modus operandi of the Heartbreaker had remained the same, bar some small changes: always the chest cut open and always the heart cut into pieces.

Malfoy's chest was cut open, but his heart had remained in one piece. Why? Why was the Heartbreaker suddenly changing his modus operandi?

Did it have a specific meaning?

Harry brought the picture even closer and discovered something that had escaped his attention the day before. Narrowing his eyes, he pulled the pathologist's papers towards him. The ones of Malfoy had arrived earlier that day.

After scanning the paper twice, making certain he had read it correctly, he looked back at the picture. Malfoy's wand was also still in one piece. It had been placed in the centre of his chest, but it had remained in one piece.

Why? Why the hell was the Heartbreaker suddenly deviating from his modus operandi? Or was Malfoy killed by some kind of twisted copycat?

No, that couldn't be, Harry reflected. The public hadn't been told about the broken wands.

So no copycat then. Then why the sudden change?

Biting his lip, Harry placed the picture back on his desk and remained still for a moment. His eyes roved over the other pictures and in a sudden bout of inspiration, he grabbed the rest of the pictures and laid them in a row; the first victim put to his left and continuing in that manner until Malfoy's picture was the last one in the row.

Something about the pictures bothered him. A small detail that was screaming for his attention …

After staring at the pictures for Merlin knew who long, he breathed in sharply when the small detail finally revealed itself to him.

The detail that had been bothering him about the photos was the way the hearts were arranged. They all had assumed that the pieces of hearts were just placed in no particular pattern. Just whatever form the killer had taken a fancy to that night.

But instead of being random patterns, the pieces of hearts formed _letters_. Very crude letters, but letters nonetheless.

Those letters on their own formed an actual sentence.

With this realisation in the back of his mind, he looked at the photos again and started mouthing out the letters.

_** I.L.O.V.E.Y.O.U.**_

Malfoy's heart could be considered a very disturbing, morbid full stop.

**I love you.**

The killer had spelt out 'I love you.'. Who was he addressing? Was it merely coincidence?

No, that couldn't be it. It couldn't be a coincidence that the pieces of heart formed the shapes of letters and those on their own formed an actual sentence.

Harry fell back against his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

What did this mean? Was this meant as some kind of morbid love letter?

His eyes trailed downwards and for some reason were pulled to Malfoy's picture again. He tapped slowly with his index finger on it.

Whole heart. Whole wand.

Why?

Did this mean there would be no other murders?

He picked up the pathologist's notes about Malfoy's corpse and studied it again. He went over the body's description again and went on to read the description of the wounds.

_Wait, hang on._

Emerald green eyes shot back to the body's description.

The next moment, the paper fluttered down on his desk while he tore out of the room.

He practically flew down the stairs, running past the few stragglers and ignored their surprised shouts. The pathologist had already left, but all Aurors had a special badge to let them in the morgue when the pathologist wasn't there.

Impatiently he pressed the badge against the ward and a short 'ting' sound announced he could open the door without the risk of being Apparated to a holding cell specifically used for said events.

Once he was inside, he went straight to the adjoining room, where the bodies were kept. The room was kept at a very low temperature and there were additional preservation charms present to prevent the bodies from further decay.

Taking a deep breath, Harry approached the table closest to the door and halted in front of it. Steadying himself – his heart seemed intent on battering the inside of his chest – he slowly reached out and grabbed the cloth, which hid the body from view.

Right when he drew the cloth back, he felt something hard and blunt hitting him; pain shooting up in his neck and then everything went black.

* * *

Waking up after being knocked unconscious had to be one of the most disorientating times. Unfortunately for Harry, he had been knocked unconscious by his enemies quite a few times already and was still unaccustomed to the throbbing of his head and the heaviness of his limbs as he came to.

His head spinning madly, he opened his eyes and blinked to try and focus his eyes. He was sitting on some kind of soft bed and his hands were bound to the headboard with iron cuffs.

"Finally woke up, huh? Took you long enough."

Harry froze and his heart beat madly. _That voice_ …

Looking up, he was met with familiar grey eyes. Grey eyes that had been staring up at the sky not even two days ago.

Was it still two days ago? How long had he been out?

"Ho-how … Why …" Harry stammered, not knowing whether he could trust his eyes.

A hand came up to rub over his knee. "Easy there, wouldn't want you to faint again." Sharp smile.

"You – you were sup-supposed to be de-dead," Harry slurred and frowned. Why was he slurring? His mouth felt partially numb, like his tongue was too fat for his mouth.

"Yes, well, supposed to be and actually being are not the same thing." Carefree laughter.

His head started to feel awfully light. What was happening to him?

"Wha-what did you …" Harry couldn't hold his head up anymore and he sagged forwards; his whole body felt as if it was filled with lead.

Cool hands embraced his face and pulled him back up. "Relax, Harry, this is just going to hurt a little bit," Draco Malfoy whispered.

The next second, an all-consuming pain threatened to rip Harry's head apart and he screamed loudly as the blackness swallowed his world.

* * *

He shot up, his scream dying in his throat. Heart thundering madly, he whipped his head around. Wait, he was in his room. In his bed. _So that hadn't really_ …

"Harry?"

His old instructors would be proud if they saw how quickly he had grabbed his wand and had thrown himself on the person next to him. Slender wrists were grasped into his hand and the tip of his wand pressed against his throat, Harry stared down in familiar, grey eyes, which now stared at him in confusion and shock.

"Harry, what are you …"

"What the fuck is going here!" Harry snarled and pressed his wand deeper into Malfoy's throat. "You are supposed to be dead, bastard! What the fuck did you do! Why the fuck are you here?!"

Malfoy took a deep breath and Harry felt his body relaxing – which didn't make any sense.

Well, nothing about this scene made any sense at all. What was Malfoy doing here in his room, in his bed?! Why was he alive? Was he the one who …

"Oh, okay, I know what's happening now," Malfoy said calmly and his wide eyed, deer in the headlights look disappeared. "You were having that nightmare again, right? Sorry, normally I wake you up before it becomes that bad, but I …"

"What nightmare, Malfoy?" Harry said flatly. He didn't remove his wand from Malfoy's throat and the latter strangely didn't push him away. He simply stared up at Harry with calm, grey eyes that held a glimmer of concern in them. He swallowed gently, his throat muscles flexing under the wand, and Harry couldn't deny - even through his haze of fear pumping through his blood - how mesmerizing Malfoy was in that moment.

"I thought we had agreed to use our first names, Harry?" Malfoy smiled weakly and then coughed when Harry glared and dug the tip of his wand into the hollow of his throat where it would hurt the most. "All right, _all right_! Since you were kidnapped by the Heartbreaker, you've been having the same nightmare every night – which is not surprising actually, giving what happened. Sometimes you wake up forgetting where you are since the trauma affected your psyche directly. Sometimes you wake up groggy, but articulate. It's just a coin-flip guess which one you'll wake up as."

"What are you talking about?" Harry spat out; a war raging inside him over what would win out: his curiosity or his fear.

So he had been kidnapped by the Heartbreaker – wait, he had seen Malfoy when he woke up. Did this mean that Malfoy was the …

"Your nightmare is actually a memory you have of that night."

"So you are …!"

"No, I'm _not_!" Malfoy's voice rose up strongly and this time he scowled, his muscles tensing up underneath Harry's. It didn't feel as though he was going to strike out, though, which shouldn't have made Harry feel better, but it did. "I _am not_ and have never been the Heartbreaker!"

"But you were killed. I saw your body," Harry said slowly, feeling strangely calm despite the doubt creeping into his voice.

Steel grey eyes looked at him pained. "Yes, I know, but that obviously wasn't me. I'm not sure about the details, because you haven't wanted to talk about it much, but apparently the Heartbreaker consisted out of two people working together. One of them was your fan who had gone off into the deep end after you hadn't responded to any of his letters or cards. He apparently had concocted some plan where he would attract your attention with the murders and form some kind of love letter?" Malfoy shook his head in a frustrated manner, clearly sickened to what levels some people would go to get attention. "Like I said, I'm not so sure about the details. Anyway, the other guy helping him had apparently gotten sick of it – or maybe wanted money, I don't know – and your fan killed him. He then used some Transfiguration to change his partner's body into that of me, knowing it would bug you to no end, especially considering I was literally your only suspect."

"But you were there when I woke up. I saw you," Harry murmured and without realising it, he loosened his grip around Malfoy's wrists.

Something was nagging at his mind, but it was just out of reach. He ground his back teeth together and flexed his fingers around his wand.

"Yes, your fan thought he could put the blame on me, because I was already a suspect and he broke into the Ministry. He followed you into the morgue and used some spells to look like me apparently. Why he first changed his dead partner into me and then used the same disguise on himself is a complete mystery to me, though. But like I said, he was completely deranged." Malfoy pursed his lips, obviously not wanting to think about the maniac any longer than necessary. "I don't know what exactly happened afterwards, but Weasley found out where you were being held and managed to rescue you."

"What happened to the Heartbreaker then?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I think he was killed, but I'm not certain. You'll have to ask Weasley for more information when you see him next."

So the Heartbreaker was dead? The case was solved?

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't explain why you are here in my house - in my bed - so soon after I was kidnapped by a psychopath."

This time a soft, but sad smile bloomed upon Malfoy's face and Harry blinked, surprised at the sudden soft look directed at him. He leaned away just a little bit to allow his breathing to calm down; his clammy hands almost dripping with sweat from where he'd clenched them for so long.

"I know we haven't been together that long, but surely you remember us meeting on the twelfth at the entrance of the Southwick Country Park? You agreed to go on a date with me that night, remember?" Malfoy whispered and he freed his hand from Harry's weak grip and reached up to caress Harry's cheek. "You said you'd be willing to give us a chance. Since you were kidnapped, you don't feel safe at night so I've been staying here for the past two nights. Normally I would have left right after you'd gone to sleep, but the last few nights you've refused to sleep unless I promised to stay the whole night. So I did. We haven't done anything, don't worry about that," he added lightly, his fingertips stroking softly over Harry's cheekbones.

The soft, tender caress seemed to trigger his memory. Harry blinked rapidly, the last traces of sleep leaving his mind, and realised that Malfoy – no, _Draco_ – was telling the truth. His mind felt foggy, but soon, one by one, the memories began to resurface. One week after he had been kidnapped, he had found the note again and despite his paranoia niggling away at the base of his skull, he had gone forth to the meeting place. He had wanted to feel something normal for once – and wanting to celebrate the solving of the case (the Heartbreaker's identity had been a Scottish wizard named Arran Manning, he remembered now) – he had gone to the meeting place, feeling nervous as hell. His Auror instincts had been on high alert the entire time, but there was also a tiny butterfly inside his stomach, fluttering with excitement and dread.

Finding Draco waiting for him there had been a shock to him – not because he was still alive, as everything had been cleared up and Draco had even been brought in to give a complete testimony that he had been in his Manor working on his business plan for his potions since he hadn't been allowed to leave the country – but _because_ it was Draco Malfoy waiting for him.

For the first time since he knew the blond, Draco had looked at him nervously and he had almost stammered his way through his confession, saying several times that he had been surprised and delighted that Harry had shown up at all, after everything that had happened recently. He looked nothing like the proud, arrogant Pureblood Harry had known for years. They had stood in that spot for a while, eventually migrating over to a wooden bench so as not to seem too strange to any passersby, and had gradually gotten comfortable enough to have a long conversation. Harry had been stunned silent for a little while; seeing this softer, almost happier side of Malfoy –no, _Draco_ –had been like seeing Hermione fail at potions. It was strange and almost alien, but it made them _human_. He hadn't thought that Draco could have been like that, but once again he had been proven pleasantly wrong.

The date itself had been amazing – surprisingly – and it hadn't necessarily been a spectacular place but it was the conversation and the company. It was like he was meeting a completely different man after so long. He couldn't help but flush when he remembered the passionate kiss he had given Draco that night, as it flashed to the forefront of his memory.

Draco seemed to have caught his flush. He smiled wider. "You remember now?" he breathed out and his thumb caressed Harry's cheekbone.

Harry ducked his head. "Yeah," he murmured and cleared his throat, as he leaned back even further, a glazed expression in his eyes before he hastily moved his wand away from Draco's flush red throat. "Sorry, I must have been too sleepy to remember it."

"Nothing to worry about it." Draco shrugged. "Like I said, it's normal that you're having nightmares. I'm more than happy to help you come to terms with them, " he smiled ruefully.

Harry dropped his wand on the nightstand. "Sorry about that," he murmured and felt his cheeks flush heavily. They must be flaming red by now. He suddenly felt small and powerless and troubled, like a scolded child despite Draco not having been too offended about what had just happened.

He wanted to remove himself from Draco's lap, but the man grabbed his hips and raised a blond eyebrow, a teasing expression easing into his features as he softened his eyes on Harry.

"And where do you think you're going?" he murmured softly.

"Eh …"

"I deserve a proper good morning kiss, don't you think?" Draco asked and sniffed haughtily.

Harry couldn't supress the tender smile that took control of his lips. "Stop pouting," he said amused and bent down to kiss Draco, feeling a shiver run down his spine when a tongue playfully glided over his lips.

"Happy Valentine's day, Harry," Draco whispered against his lips as he leaned up to press his mouth against Harry's, soft, whispering moans already building up in his throat.

Right, it was the fourteenth already. My, time flew by.

"Happy Valentine's day, Draco," he smiled softly, trying his best to force the nightmarish images to the back of his brain. He couldn't really focus on anything though, as he felt Draco's warm hands smooth over his exposed sliver of skin over his boxer shorts. He was ripped out of his sleepy musings with a loud squeak when Draco rolled them over until the blond man was settled between his spread legs and pinning his arms to the mattress.

Draco smirked. "Now why don't we have a bit of fun before I officially meet Granger and Weasley this afternoon, hm?"

"It's actually Weasley-Granger no …" The rest of his retort was smothered underneath Draco's soft lips. He gasped out loud, letting Draco's tongue slip into his mouth, making him moan and lap up the taste of the blonde man. He shuddered at the warm weight on top of him. It had been _so long_ since he had felt anyone on top of him. It made him shudder again as they kissed gently.

Ron and Hermione could wait a little bit longer – it was time he became a bit more acquainted with Draco's body, he decided and slipped his hands underneath Draco's shirt.

* * *

**AN2: Sooooo yeah ... *coughs* What do you think?**

**Cuddles**

**Melissa**

**P.S. For more information about my upcoming and posted stories, please visit my profile.**


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